Saturday, 19 November 2016

In a possibly desperate attempt
to justify my claims about framing and history, I would like to comment, briefly,
on an all-round Austrian hero, about whom only a few, even among wargamers, ever
seem to hear. The interest is not so much in the content of our hero’s life,
but it the circumstances which have made him so obscure.

An article in December’s History
Today magazine (yes, even history magazines run ahead of the calendar) about
Josef Radetzky is about his contemporary fame and his subsequent obscurity.
Radetzky fought the Turks in the 1780’s, the French in 1813 and crushed the
1848 uprisings in Italy. Now, however, he is rarely recalled, except through an
obscure 1932 novel, and Johan Strauss’ March in his honour.

In his lifetime, (1766 – 1858) he
was hailed as a military genius; his accomplishments were lauded across Europe.
At his death he lay in state in Milan, then in Vienna, and then in Heldenburg,
where he was buried. The Times of London
compared him to Wellington, an honour which, at that time, no higher could be paid
to a foreigner.

So why has Radetzky slipped into
obscurity. The answer seems to be that he was just a bit unfortunate with the
results of the timing of his achievements.

For example, from 1809 – 1817 he
was chief of staff of the Austrian army. He has been described as the chief
architect of the defeat of Napoleon. However, the major success of this time
was the Battle of Leipzig and the 1813 – 1814 campaign. This led to Napoleon’s
abdication, of course. But it was then overshadowed by Napoleon’s return and
the subsequent Waterloo campaign, in which the Austrian army was no involved. Rather
fewer people cared about the success in 1814 when it all had to be done again
in 1815.

Similarly, Radetzky was the
commander of Austrian forces in Italy in 1848. He ignored his superiors, went
on the offensive, crushed the Piedmontese and pretty well finished the
revolutionary war before it started. Again, he was badly served by history. His
activities in Italy were undone within a year of his death as the Risorgimento
took place. What might have happened if Radetzky had still been in command? It
is, of course, hard to say, but Italy might look rather different today if he
had.

So what happened? It is possibly,
of course, that Radetzky’s achievements are still lauded in Austria and similar
parts of the former Empire. Anglo-American historiography, however, has almost
entirely ignored him.

Firstly, as noted, his main achievements
were largely undone by the next steps in history. It is not exactly Radetzky’s
fault that Napoleon escaped from Elba, or that Italy was reunified in a way
which no-one expected. It is not his fault, either, that history can argue that
Napoleon defeated himself in 1812 in Russia, and everything else was a mopping
up operation. As a military officer Radetzky defeated Napoleon in 1809 at Aspern,
and it could be claimed that Wagram was a stalemate. The politics of the
situations overshadowed the purely military aspects.

Thus, in our historiography, at
least, we remember Wellington and Nelson, but not Radetzky. But there is a
wider and further framing question here. We can regard Radetzky as simply being
on the wrong side of history. He fought for the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which
collapsed in 1918. Historians ever since have been picking over the corpse to
establish the causes of that failure.
The empire, according to one view, was simply a conservative, reactionary
state with little hope of surviving in the longer term anyway. Successes like
Radetzky were just bumps in the road to inevitable failure and collapse. A
multi-ethnic, multi-national empire like that could never survive the transition
to modernism and the nation state. The empire was justly kicked out of Italy,
Germany and, of course, was responsible for the outbreak of World War One. On
this analysis Radetzky fought, and won, in vain.

Our interpretation of Radetzky
thus lies in the frame in which we try to understand him. In the frame of
1813-1814 he might well stand as ‘the Great’, a Field Marshall of outstanding
ability. But in the frame of even 1813-1815 his success is a little more nuanced;
Leipzig was not the final world. Similarly, in the context of the 1848
revolutions, his contribution is a success, at least when viewed from the side
of the Empire. By 1860 that view is much less focussing on success; it is
overshadowed by subsequent events.

Of course, on an even broader
canvas, Radetzky becomes ever less important. Most of the achievements he could
lay claim to were undone by 1918. The Empire collapsed. The post-Napoleon
Europe his victories achieved had died on the Western and Eastern fronts. From the
viewpoint of this history, Radetzky is at best a side-show, a tragic figure
trying to hold back the tide of historical inevitability.

Radetzky, of course, would not,
and could not see it like that. He did what he had to do (all right, he did not
have to father a child in his eighties on a woman who was not his wife). As chief
of staff and governor in Italy, he did what the context of his times required. It
is not his fault that he was on the wrong side of our current (or at least
recent) historiographical debates and viewpoints. He would not have seen, I suspect,
his activities as either tragic or irrelevant.

So hopefully this idea of framing
history is coming into a little bit of perspective. The importance of someone
is a function, at least in part, of the time frame we impose on them. Similarly,
the importance of an event is, in part, a function of the time frame. Further,
both are limited by our concepts of what happened next. Leipzig is trumped by
Waterloo. Finally, the importance of people and events are also framed by our
impressions of what went forward. The Austro-Hungarian Empire was doomed to
fail (and it did, of course) and so anyone appearing to oppose that decline and
fall is, simply put, irrelevant.

Saturday, 12 November 2016

The discussion we have had about
how Alexander III of Macedon came to be known as ‘the Great’ has been, to me,
at least, fascinating. There is a great deal there about how we view, receive, and
consume, even, history. Even those of you who basically said that Alexander was
great are taking a historiographical view. Greatness is, of course, is the eye of the
beholder.

As was pointed out, other people
through history have been given the epithet of ‘the Great’ – Peter, Catherine, Frederick,
Alfred. In many cases it seems that this is so because they have a historical
achievement to their name, or at least a set of spectacular bits of achievement
which have accumulated around their name. Peter did a bit of westernising and
beat the Swedes. Catherine did a bit of land expanding (not personally, I don’t
think). Alfred did a bit of defending and brought in some literacy. And so on. Whether
a leader is a great one depends on what you care to examine.

More recently, of course, there
has been a decline in greatness. In part, I suspect, this is because
historiography has changed rather. Instead of the ‘great man’ (or ‘great woman’}
view of history, which allows alexander to conquer the world and gives him the
credit, there has been the rise of other historiographical viewpoints.

I may have mentioned before that
there are a variety of views about the causes, course and conclusion of the
English Civil Wars (which were neither English nor Civil, but let us leave that
argument for another day). These views
include religion, the rise of the gentry, the fall of the gentry, the poor
weather in the first half of the seventeenth century, the fissiparous nature of
the three kingdoms (and one principality), the increasing power of Parliament,
the decreasing power of Parliament and so on.

Similarly, depending on what you
focus on, you can make a case for the wars being won by Puritan discipline, or
by the fact that the navy backed Parliament, or by the victory of the hard
liners in London in 1644 leading to the creation of the New Model Army, and so
on. History, and more importantly, the interpretation of history, is never that
simple.

Perhaps that is why I do feel a
little disappointed in those wargamers who simply argue that Alexander was
great, and deserves his plus three on the general-ship dice. Firstly, they
decline to engage in any historiographical comparisons, and secondly they miss
out on a good deal of interesting stuff. Maybe Alexander was great, but he did
have to work and win battles in a certain strategic and historical context. He
had no access to machine guns, and so had to make the pike work as hard as
possible.

The context in which any general
works is something of a given. Generals are notorious for entering into a war
ready to fight the last one, but as someone pointed out recently in the news,
really, given funding constraints, particularly in peace time, the generals
have little choice in the matter. Alexander came to the throne in a kingdom
already committed to invading Asia; in fact, it already had done so. While it
would be theoretically possible for Alexander to have withdrawn the
expeditionary force, it would probably not have gone down too well at home. The
invasion was pretty well forced upon him by circumstances.

Similarly, the arguments on the Parliamentary
side in late 1644 pretty well forced a change in the nature of the armies and
general-ship. A number of factors were recognised, implicitly if not
explicitly. Firstly, and most importantly, there was the question of what
winning the war might look like. What would happen if the war was lost was
perfectly clear – the Parliamentary leaders would hang. What winning would look
like was more difficult. How do you negotiate with a defeated king who is still
king?

Despite these issues, the most
pressing factor was that the war had to be won. This consisted in a number of
facets, such as creating the NMA, although actually that army was only one of a
number of forces operating in 1644-5. The difference is that Fairfax was
permitted to do what it took to win the war without constantly referring to
London. Thus came about the string of victories in the summer and autumn of
1645.

The freeing up of the military
strategy of the Parliamentary forces was a major factor, but not the only
factor, in winning the first Civil War. The country was weary of troops and
fighting. Trade was depressed and taxation was high. Some sort of solution was
needed. This is the context for the political decisions which eventually won
the war.

What, then, of the great man
thesis? Was Alexander just lucky to hit the Persian Empire just when it was at
its most rocky? Did the political and economic situation in the Empire simply
suit an invader with a reasonably good army that, even when he made mistakes,
could fight its way out of trouble? These are historiographical questions, and
are unlikely to be decided one way or the other.

On a similar theme, of course, we
can question whether Cromwell was a great leader or just happened to be in the
right place at the right time. Again, as I’ve tried to point out, the context
was specific. The war was won before Cromwell really came to prominence as a
war leader, but we see him as the person of the wars. Whig history of the late
Victorian era has a lot to answer for here.

As I mentioned, there are no real
answers here. The evidence is, broadly speaking, given. All we argue about are
interpretations. In ECW studies, the debate is swinging back from the Marxist
sort of economic and radical politics explanations towards to view that the
major problems were the King himself and unresolved (and probably, unresolvable)
issues in religion, which themselves related back to differences between
Charles and a lot of his subjects. But this is a change of interpretation, a
change of emphasis in how we view the importance of what was going on. We could
suggest that it has arisen as a consequence of the realisation that in the
contemporary world, religion is more important than the secular Marxist
historians might have thought.

But the point, I think, is that
the question is never quite so straightforward as ‘was Alexander the great?’

Saturday, 5 November 2016

I have by my side two books, both
of them interesting in their own way, but between them I think they augment the
point I was trying to make last time about the framing we do when we do
history. Indeed, there was no post last week because I was trying to finish the
second book, as I had already had this as an idea.

The first of the books I want to
discuss is ‘The Genius of Alexander the Great, by Nicholas Hammond (1997,
London: Duckworth). Hammond was a well known classical scholar, and did an
awful lot of work of Greece and Macedon during the classical age. The thesis of
the book is well summed up in the title: Alexander was not just the Great, but
he was a genius. His logistics were first rate, for example. His military
acumen was second to none. He set out
to, and achieved, conquest of the known world and, if others had not go cold
feet, he would have conquered the rest of it as well. Indeed, had an early
death not overcome him, he would have got as far as the Gates of Hercules
within another campaigning season or so.

In this, of course, Hammond has
to explain a few bits of history away. For example, Darius got between
Alexander’s army and his base just before Issus, which does not seem to be the
mark of a particularly great leader. We all have bad days at the office,
granted, but Alexander had to rely on his army to fight their way out of the
predicament. Similarly, the debacle in leading part of the army across the
desert has to be explained, especially in the light of the excellent logistical
mind that Hammond credits Alexander with.

There are a few other anomalies
that have to be smoothed over, as well, such as drunkenness and murder, but on
the whole, Hammond’s alexander is a rather likeable chap, at least in terms of
despots of the era, who could do a nice turn is cross-cultural relations and
with whom you could have a drink (or seventeen).

The other book is Alexander the
Great Failure, by John D Grainger (2007, Continuum: London). I do not think
that Grainger is a classicist, but a more general historian. In fact I recall
reading one of his previous books, Cromwell Against the Scots, which finished
with an appeal for England and Scotland to remain united, on the basis that
when they fell out, mayhem and military government ensued.

Grainger’s point is that
alexander did nothing to fix any of the problems he inherited from his father,
including the personal nature of the Macedonian monarchy. This caused problems
in Macedonia when the king was absent, as Alexander was for most of the time.
He also failed to fix the heir, by, despite being urged to before invading Asia,
not marrying and begetting a son. In the end, he did gain an heir, but that
heir was posthumous and got murdered before any significant activity too place.

Aside from that, Grainger rather
grudgingly admits that Alexander was a good commander, although he points out
that Macedonian progress in Asia would have been harder if Darius III had been
more secure on the throne, and the Egyptians had been less restive. The biggest
charge against Alexander that is laid is that he failed to sort any administration
out for the conquered areas. They were left to Macedonians he appointed, or,
more frequently, the already existing satraps were left in post. They quite
frequently revolted.

Grainger’s evidence for Alexander’s
failure comes from pushing beyond his death in the historical record. The
collapse of Alexander’s empire was not, according to Grainger, inevitable, even
on Alexander’s early death. Several of the successors had a good go at
conquering the empire and holding it, but all failed. If Alexander had had a
viable, teenage heir, then the empire might have held together. But he did not,
and it fell apart as the successors lost trust in each other, and grabbed what
they could hold.

The upshot of this is that the
empire collapsed. The eastern satraps became independent, or were reconquered
by the resurgent Indian states. Macedonia was exhausted and failed to defend
itself from the Galatian invasion, and the successor states slugged it out to mutual
exhaustion and, in doing so, permitted power to arise further west, in the
shape of Rome, which eventually conquered the whole lot.

The interesting thing about these
two accounts is that, whichever one you might like, they are both based on the
same set of historical data. There are no new facts, no astounding discoveries
in either volume. Both base their account of the reign of Alexander and beyond
on the existing historical record. So far as I can tell, neither author has
bent that record out of shape to accommodate their views.

We have, then, what we can call a
‘maximal’ and a ‘minimal’ view of Alexander. Maximally, with Hammond, we can
call him a genius. Minimally, with Grainger, we can call him a disaster. Either
view is acceptably academic: it is based on reasonable interpretations of the
sources. Both authors admit that there is a lot we will never know about
Alexander and his forebears and successors.

So we have here two historical frames,
one in which Alexander is the Great, and one in which he is a failure. Which do
we choose? Do we have to choose?

In fact, I don’t think that the
two pictures are incompatible. Grainger admits that Alexander was a good
general. Hammond does not really discuss administration. But somewhere in these
(perhaps rather extreme) views of Alexander there might be considered to be
some ‘truth’, whatever that might be. As historical wargamers, are we committed
to a framework of history for the specific periods we game in?

We could wonder if this mattered,
but I think it does, even at the level of whether Alexander gets +3 on his
command dice for being a genius, or being at -1 for being a drunkard. Somehow,
we have to make a judgment.